


Santa Can't Bring Me What I Need

by asroarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time DDLG, Fluff, Possessive Sex, Praise Kink, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22024258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asroarke/pseuds/asroarke
Summary: She rehearses her next sentence over and over in her head, her hands still fiddling with the strings. He’ll be the one to pull them, of that she’s certain. Though part of her wants to throw the robe off her and throw him down on the bed.But that’s not how this works. Not for what she has in mind.“Aren’t you going to unwrap your present, Daddy?”Or the one where Clarke is willing to try something new as a Christmas present to Bellamy.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 394
Collections: Merry Glebmas 2k19





	Santa Can't Bring Me What I Need

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lightyears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightyears/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Rosie! May Glebidiah smile upon you in the new year.

In their bedroom, Bellamy is still on the phone with Octavia. It seems to be a pleasant conversation for once, which Clarke’s grateful for. The last two Christmases where they weren’t speaking nearly killed Bellamy, though he would never admit it.

This Christmas had passed as unceremoniously as the last few. No gifts, they decided. Their gift to each other would be paying to have their dishwasher fixed. Their little house has a small tree up in their living room. They barely got it up in time for the holidays what with both of them working two jobs to make rent. The best thing about Christmas is it’s the first day in months that both of them have off at the same time, and neither of them wanted to do anything except be together all day. Which suits them just fine since Octavia wasn’t going to invite them over and Clarke still isn’t speaking to her mother.

When Bellamy hangs up the phone, Clarke pulls her robe closed and pads out of the bathroom. He’s already tugging off his shirt, the nice button up that she knows he only wore for her. Though he’s exhausted, he still smiles at her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Her mother had been convinced that Clarke’s relationship with Bellamy would crash and burn as soon as the bills caught up with them and the romance of running off together had worn off, but three years later and it still hasn’t. She’s still stupidly in love. And if his lovestruck smile right now is anything to go by, so is he.

Dropping out of school and running across the country with him was the best thing she ever did.

“Next Christmas, I’ll get you a real present,” Bellamy promises. He had his eye on a ring in the jewelry store down the road, though he has no idea that she knows that. One day, they’ll have their wedding. Just not yet. But she can wait. She’ll wait forever if she has to.

“I have an idea for a present you could give me right now,” Clarke says with a wink, and Bellamy laughs all warm and low.

Her hands fiddle with the strings on her robe. Though she’s been planning this for a while, there’s still a part of her that’s unsure. Bellamy had told her he would like to try this and that he’s thought about it for years, yet Clarke still worries she worries she won’t do this right. She’s read everything she can about it and thinks she’ll like it too. But she just needs this to be everything he’s wanted. Bellamy does so much and works too hard. 

“Actually, I have a present for you.” Her voice is higher than usual, either from playing the part or from nerves though she isn’t sure which.

Bellamy steps around their bed, and she can’t help but let her gaze travel down his chest. Clarke isn’t sure she’ll ever get used to how strong he is. His muscles aren’t as defined as they were when he was nineteen. He’s put on some weight just like she has. But they’re still there, as firm and steady as ever. Her hands have traveled over every inch of them, but she’ll never get tired of the feel of him.

“Oh?”

He stops just a foot away from her and keeps his hands to himself. But his eyes are dark and hungry as they rake over her. Bellamy’s probably wondering if there’s lingerie under the robe or nothing.

Technically, it is lingerie. She found it in the clearance rack at target. It’s a little pink negligee. It’s a cup size too small, but at five dollars, Clarke couldn’t be too picky. Besides, her breasts nearly spill out of the lacy cups, which Bellamy will love. The panties match and fit a little better than the top. The rest is loose and sheer, resembling a short baby doll dress. Not the most overtly sexy thing she could wear, but she thinks it will do the trick.

Bellamy must sense something is different because his eyes meet hers in an amused but narrowed way. It’s not often that Clarke gets nervous with him. They’ve been together so long that everything is so comfortable.

She rehearses her next sentence over and over in her head, her hands still fiddling with the strings. He’ll be the one to pull them, of that she’s certain. Though part of her wants to throw the robe off her and throw him down on the bed.

But that’s not how this works. Not for what she has in mind.

“Aren’t you going to unwrap your present, Daddy?”

Her heart pounds as she watches his eyes widen and lips part. Nervous, her hands come up to her hair, twirling the blonde strands just to have something to do. It’s very rare that she’s met with silence. Bellamy is known for being vocal about everything from sex to narrating what he’s doing to himself as he cooks in the kitchen.

He steps toward her, making her breath hitch as he reaches for the strings of her robe.

“Baby,” he whispers, all quiet and low as if testing the word out. “You sure?”

The excitement is still lingering in his gaze, though he holds himself as if bracing for her to change her mind. It’s not all that different to how he seemed the night he told her that he’d like it if she ever wanted to call him daddy. All nonchalant, the product of spending an entire lifetime not knowing how to ask for something for himself. Everything he does is for someone else. For his mother, for O, and now, for Clarke.

“I want to,” Clarke tells him. “Don’t you?” He wraps the strings around his hands, playing with them a little as he slowly tugs. “Don’t you want to be my daddy?”

“Fuck,” he murmurs, closing his eyes for a few seconds. “Yes. God, yes.”

When his eyes flutter open, they focus in on her face. It’s a look she’s all too familiar with. He wants to know if she’s sure. The first time she saw it was the night he took her virginity in the back of his truck parked two blocks from her parent’s house. The most recent was when he rearranged the furniture in their bedroom and was silently terrified that Clarke might not like it.

“I want to, Bell,” Clarke tells him smiling so big that her cheeks burn.

“Promise? We really don’t have to—”

“Unwrap your present, Daddy,” Clarke cuts him off. The discerning crease in his forehead melts away. At a painfully slow pace, he pulls her robe open. The cool air of the room hits her skin like a sharp slap. Clarke itches to press her body into his, to soak up all the warmth he’s always willing to give her, but she stays still so Bellamy can enjoy all of his present.

His calloused fingers graze against her shoulders and back as he pushes the robe all the way off. Her eyes fall shut as fingertips are dragged along her arms and neck. He doesn’t say a word, but his quickened breathing says it all.

“Did you get all dressed up for Daddy?” he whispers. His whole hand rests on her neck just below her chin. She blinks open her eyes and he tilts her head up to look at him. Weakly, she nods. “Oh, baby.” A shudder washes through her. _Baby_ isn’t new. He called her that the first time he fingered her back in high school and loved her reaction so much that he never stopped. It’s only now that the way she melts at that name finally makes sense. She’s _his_ baby. “You’re so pretty.”

“Thank you,” she chokes out. This isn’t new either. He always tells her how pretty and beautiful she is. A familiar string is being pulled inside her, one Bellamy has been plucking at for years.

“Thank you what?”

A blush floods her cheeks. How could she forget that? It’s the one thing she’s been practicing for days. “Thank you, Daddy,” she corrects.

His lips find her forehead, and he growls, “Good girl” into her skin. Her eyes fall shut and her hand clings to his arm.

None of this is new. The only thing that’s different is that they have a word for it now.

“That’s my good, sweet baby,” he murmurs, punctuating each word with a gentle kiss down her nose. Clarke tilts her chin up to meet his lips at the end of the sentence. Bellamy hums against her lips, all happy and warm. The kiss would almost be chaste if it weren’t for his other hand groping its way down her body. He keeps on kissing her sweetly as his hand pushes between her thighs. “You’re all wet, sweetheart.”

His finger digs into the fabric, finding her clit immediately. Bellamy’s gotten her orgasms down to a science. Half asleep, he can make her come twice before really waking up. It’s a little too easy for him to touch her how she likes after all these years… not that she’s complaining.

“For you, Daddy,” she whimpers, and his teeth graze her bottom lip.

“Need Daddy to take care of you?”

It’s not a question she’s ever heard before. But her body sings like it’s a chorus it has spent its whole life hearing. Bellamy built the bed they sleep in every night. He fixed up the house. He holds her when she’s upset. He carries her to bed if she falls asleep on the couch. He makes her eat when her depression makes it hard for her to force herself to. He kisses every tear away. He drives her to tears when he fucks her in the bed that he built for them.

Bellamy has always taken care of her.

Clarke nods with a pathetic little pout. She tucks her thumb under the waistband of her panties, but Bellamy grips her wrist before she can pull them down.

“Keep your pretty outfit on. Daddy’s not done looking at his beautiful baby.”

Their legs clang against each other as Bellamy walks her into the bed. As hard as Bellamy tries to keep a straight face, there’s this giddy smile fighting its way onto his lips. Clarke can’t help but mirror it. If she had given him a brand-new truck for Christmas, she doubts she’d see such an excited look on her boyfriend’s face.

Clarke melts into the mattress, her skin buzzing with warmth as Bellamy cages her underneath him. She’s always loved the weight of him on her, though he’s always worried he’s crushing her. She wiggles and squirms beneath him as he kisses down her chin and neck, giggling as his scruff tickles her skin.

His hand settles back between her legs, tugging the fabric to the side so he can pet at her cunt. Bellamy hums into her neck while he teases her entrance, knowing exactly what this is doing to her.

“Bell,” she huffs.

“What did you call me?”

“Daddy,” she corrects, and he kisses her neck as a reward. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Touch me.”

“I am touching you,” he replies with the petulance of a middle schooler.

“You know what I want,” she groans.

“No, I don’t. You have to ask Daddy for what you want, baby.”

Bellamy is the vocal one. Not her. He knows how to play her body like fine tuned instrument, so it’s not like she ever _has_ to direct him. The idea of saying it out loud makes her blush furiously.

After a deep breath, she whispers, “I want you to finger me, Daddy.”

“Mmm. Say please.” His lips ghost along her throat as he speaks.

“Please, Daddy.”

For four long, unbearable seconds, he does nothing. Doesn’t respond, doesn’t touch her. Tears begin to well in her eyes until finally she feels his finger rub at her clit.

“Say ‘Thank you, Daddy,’” he growls as he falls to her side.

“Thank you, Daddy.” Her voice doesn’t sound like hers. It’s higher and weaker, too little to be hers. But it has to be hers. Who else could these whimpers belong to?

Slowly, his index pushes into her. This part is familiar. One finger becomes two. His other hand takes over on her clit. Every now and then, his fingers crook inside her and make her squeak in surprise. The new part are all the _baby’s_ that fall off his lips and the _Daddy’s_ that come out like a desperate chant from hers.

“Tell me you like this too,” Bellamy says, sounding dangerously close to a beg.

“I do, I do,” she pants in rhythm with his fingers’ thrusting into her.

“You like being my baby?” It’s not dirty talk. It’s an honest question. “You like me being your daddy?”

At first, Clarke thought this would just be an every now and then sort of thing. A way to spice things up or treat Bell real nice when he needs it. She thought this could be something she would do for him on occasion and that she might like in small doses.

No one could have warned her about how well this would click into place. Now that she’s had this small taste, she isn’t sure she can stop.

“Yeah,” Clarke tells him, and his lips sear into hers before she can utter anything else. Bellamy’s fingers keep rocking into her steadily, the only thing anchoring her to this bed during the onslaught of his lips.

“God, I love you,” he pants against her lips. “Gonna marry you one day.”

“I know—”

“Give you everything. Take such good care of you, you have no idea,” he promises, and tears form in her eyes again. “Get us a bigger house. Build it myself if I have to. Fill it with babies and a dog and all your art and—”

Clarke slams her lips into his, keeping her eyes open to watch her favorite part of kissing him: the way his eyes fall shut at just the feel of her lips on his. Bellamy’s never been able to keep them open while kissing. It’s like he’s savoring the feel of her lips or unable to focus on anything else. Sometimes, she thinks she fell in love with him the first time they kissed and she saw his eyelids flutter closed like this for the first time ever. Or maybe it was the first time his hand grazed hers. Or when he took a stab at writing her a love letter.

“I love you,” she pants into his mouth.

“I love you,” Bellamy says back. Mouthing at her, he crooks his fingers inside her again. They aren’t really kissing anymore, just pressing their mouths together. Her cunt squeezes and pulses around his fingers, and she’s too far gone to do much else than moan. But he keeps his mouth on hers as if determined to swallow every sound she makes for him and only for him.

Her nose glides against his throat as she comes down. Bellamy rolls onto his back and pulls Clarke into his chest, his hands petting at her hair and back while she catches her breath.

“Baby,” he whispers.

“Daddy,” she whimpers weakly.

For a few minutes, that’s all they really say to each other. They echo those names that are so much more than words now. They’re everything. Promises of what they are to each other. Promises of what they will be for each other. Names that sum up why the two of them cling so desperately to each other.

Their mouths find each other again, lazy kisses transforming into hungrier ones. Clarke ends up on her back again with her legs in the air as Bellamy tugs off her panties. While he slides off his boxers, Clarke pulls off the rest of her outfit. Her breasts scream out in relief as soon as they’re free.

“Too small?” he chuckles.

“By a cup size,” she groans.

“You poor thing,” he tuts. His hands are rough as he drags her to the center of the bed, as if he’s too hungry to be gentle. When she tries to sit up, he pushes her back down and climbs over her. “Should I make them feel better?” he asks, eyeing her tits.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please, Daddy,” she corrects with a grin. One hand takes a breast while his mouth seizes the other. There’s nothing gentle about it. He pinches one nipple while he sucks hard on the other. His hands take both and squeeze until Clarke is whimpering beneath him.

“Who do these belong to?”

“You, Daddy.”

“Fuck,” he groans, letting his head drop between her breasts. “Baby. My good, good baby.” When he finally lifts his head, his pupils are blown. His eyes stare at her hungrily yet still so full of love. “I need to be inside you. Fuck, can I, baby? You want Daddy to fuck your little pussy?”

Clarke claws at his shoulders until he’s pushed up enough for her to kiss him. “Please,” she mumbles into his mouth. “Please, please. I need it.”

“You need your daddy?” His forehead presses into hers as the rest of his body lifts off her. “Do you need me, baby? Need me to take care of you?”

“Uh huh.”

“Say it. Clarke, fuck. Please say it.”

“I need you,” she cries. “I need you to take care of me, Daddy.”

A slew of curses fall off Bellamy’s lips as he pushes her legs farther apart. The first few times he tries to push inside, his cock slips out. He’s too excited or nervous, and maybe she is too. They don’t usually fumble around, not since high school. They lock eyes, and a nervous laugh escapes them both. Two more tries, and he’s in. Clarke’s back arches off the bed as he slowly presses inside.

“Fuck,” she grins. Clarke will never get used to feeling him inside her. The way his warm cock fills her. How stupidly in love Bellamy looks while they’re joined like this. How their kisses go incoherent between all the smiles and moans and broken sounding declaration of love.

Her legs wrap around his back as he thrusts in and out of her. Her arms wrap around his neck too, though he doesn’t give in right away and melt into her so she can kiss him.

“Please, Daddy,” Clarke says. Maybe it’s a little manipulative, but she adds, “I need you.”

It works. His mouth presses into hers as her fingers tangle themselves in his curls. They tug and kiss at each other almost drunkenly. All sloppy and desperate compared to the rhythmic snapping of Bellamy’s hips.

“Baby.”

“Daddy.”

“Baby.”

“Daddy.”

Each time those words slip off their lips, they grow warmer. It’s not the sexy, dirty talk she imagined for tonight. But it’s all she needs. She’s his baby. He’s her daddy. They belong to each other. They always have.

Clarke is in tears when his cock hits that one spot that pushes her over. Her fingernails dig into his back and her toes curl. The only thing grounding her is the repetition of _baby_ being murmured right into her ear. It’s just a word, but it says so much more. _You’re mine_ , he says over and over. _And I’m yours_. All in just one four letter word.

She’s too overwhelmed to feel Bellamy come inside her, but she can tell he does by the way he grunts and growls into her neck. Bellamy is many things, but quiet is not one of them. He turns feral when he comes for her, like an animal breeding his mate. She loves it. Loves how he seems to lose control with her. Loves how desperate he is for his baby.

He doesn’t pull away just yet. Just stays inside her while he pants into her shoulder. Her fingers slide up and down his sweaty back, her legs now back on the bed and a little sore from being stretched open like that for so long. When he does pull out, he falls onto his side and pulls her into him.

“So, did you like your Christmas present?” Clarke teases.

“God, yes,” he sleepily mumbles into her hair. She doubts his eyes are even open. Clarke gives it two minutes before he passes out for the night.

Clarke reaches up to touch his face, letting her finger drag between his freckles. He scrunches his nose a little but doesn’t protest.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he whispers, eyes still closed.

“I wanted to.”

“For me?”

“I’d do anything for you.” The corners of his mouth turn up at that. “Just like you would do anything for me.”

His sleepy eyes flutter open and lock with hers. Bellamy doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. He would do anything for her. He already has. Over and over.

“Merry Christmas, Bell,” she whispers. Clarke plants a chaste kiss onto his lips.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he says with a sleepy grin. Clarke curls into his chest and shuts her eyes. Both of them have to get up early in the morning to get to work, but for now, they can have this. And this is all either of them really need.


End file.
